The Zelinsky Case
by WhyAye
Summary: Spending four days walking around inside the head of a sick man. Finding what was left of the ten-year-old girl he abducted. Hathaway struggles with the monster they are holding for questioning, as well as a monster he finds within himself.
1. Chapter 1

"You know you could be facing some pretty heavy charges. If we don't find Anna until after she's dead, it'll be _murder_. So. It's in your own interests to tell us where she is."

Detective Inspector Robert Lewis concealed his frustration well. He made it sound perfectly reasonable for their suspect to explain where he had confined Anna Gordon, the ten-year-old girl he had abducted two weeks earlier. But Karl Zelinsky was not a man to act reasonably. And he wasn't stupid.

"You can't charge me with murder if there's no body, Inspector."

Sitting next to Lewis and across the table from Zelinsky, Detective Sergeant James Hathaway felt his lip curl involuntarily. Zelinsky's face split with what Hathaway supposed was a smile. And the accused man began to make a sound that Hathaway supposed was a laugh. The sound that desert sand might make when being scraped by the wind across the hide of a dead animal. A kind of keening rattle. Hathaway felt his scalp prickle.

Out of sight of the man, Hathaway flicked his foot quickly sideways, tapping the toe of Lewis's shoe. It was a signal they had agreed to hours earlier, when they first undertook to interview Zelinsky.

Lewis firmed his mouth and exhaled through his nose, drumming his fingers on the table. He wasn't getting anywhere, anyway; an interruption wouldn't make a difference. They had been going at Zelinsky for hours, and all he would answer were basic questions about his name and address. Time was running out. Without further hesitation, Lewis got up from his chair, muttered at and switched off the tape recorder, and strode out of the room. Hathaway immediately followed.

As the door closed behind them, Lewis walked up to the wall and tipped his forehead against it, hands in his trouser pockets.

"Yeah?"

Hathaway rubbed his nose and glanced up and down the empty hallway. The PC guarding the door to the interview room had stepped inside when they went out. "Sir, I just want you to know that I fully support whatever methods you feel are required for getting him to talk."

Lewis turned to face the younger man, his eyes narrowed. "You mean, you'll keep your mouth shut if I clock him?"

Hathaway didn't answer, but his eyes were confirmation enough.

Lewis drew himself up. "Sergeant, the day I strike someone during an interview is the last day I'm a cop. You understand? Hitting is for men. We're police officers. We have to be better than that."

Hathaway swallowed. "Not everyone feels that strongly about it. All I'm saying is I'd keep mum if you did. Even if anyone learned of it, given the circumstances, it's unlikely there'd be an internal investigation."

"Yeah? Well, _I_ feel strongly about it. And it's not about facing an internal investigation. It's about facing meself in the mirror every day."

"I'm sorry, Sir. Only, it's difficult to put much store in proper procedure when that girl is out there somewhere, still waiting to be found. Every moment we delay . . ." He knew Lewis was aware of the stakes involved. "And that animal knows where she is."

"Until he's charged, he has as much right to his civil liberties as anyone, Sergeant, whether we like it or not. And I won't risk having his confession thrown out of court if we manage to get it. You'll not mention it again, understood?"

"Sir."

Lewis checked his wristwatch. "Bloody hell, it's gone eleven. We'd better let Mister Zelinsky have the rest we're required to give him under proper procedures so he has the energy to resist us tomorrow." He tapped on the interview room door, letting the PC know they were done for the night. "Right. See you tomorrow, then."

As Lewis walked away, Hathaway felt a bit disappointed. He was not ready to go home and face the day's demons by himself. He had hoped they could go find a late pint, although on a Sunday that was rather unlikely. Still, he wanted to decompress a little, relax enough to have a chance at falling asleep at some time. Well, Lewis was probably too tired. They'd been at this for nearly twelve hours, and Lewis had done most of the questioning. Grimacing at the night that lay ahead of him, Hathaway went back to the office. _Better here than home_.

Lewis _was_ tired but, like his sergeant, was not ready to go home. He knew he would not yet be able to sleep. But he wanted time alone, time when he didn't have to speak or listen to anyone. He headed to the stationhouse locker room, where he changed into the sweatpants and tee shirt he kept there. After wrapping his hands, he stood in front of the heavy punch-bag hanging from the ceiling and began to pound it. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until he was beating it in frenzied fury. He hadn't boxed since he was young, but despite his vehement words it had required great strength of will for him to resist Hathaway's invitation to violence, and he knew he needed this release.

When at last his rage had run its course, he fell against the bag, swaying slightly and breathing hard into its leather, embracing it, intimate as a spent lover. Now he could sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning blazed hot and still, the heat unusually oppressive for late June. When Lewis returned to the office at a quarter to eight, Hathaway was already there, jacket off and sleeves rolled up. Before they had a chance to say more than two words to each other, a soft knock sounded. Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent stood in the doorway, concern crossing her face.

"Lewis, by when will you need me to extend his detention?"

"They brought him in just after ten yesterday, Ma'am. I doubt we'll get anything out of him in the next two hours."

"I'll get it ready, then. And I'll need a press release, Lewis."

He rolled his eyes. "'We're continuing our investigation,' what else can we say?"

The strategy was "Good Cop, Bad Cop," with Hathaway going first as "Bad Cop." Lewis watched from behind the one-way glass while his sergeant started the tape recorder and then proceeded to shout at and implicitly threaten their suspect. Zelinsky sat unresponsive, his left eye twitching every now and then. After more than an hour and a half of this, Lewis entered the interview room with a show of angry haste, as though he had only now become aware of what was going on.

"Sergeant? A word? _Now_." Both men left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Lewis put his hand on Hathaway's arm. "You alright? I think he's starting to wear down. Good job."

Hathaway waved him off. "I need a smoke. Let me know when you're ready."

Lewis knocked on Innocent's door and entered at her bidding. She handed him the signed extension form without a word. Before he made it out the door, though, she called him back.

"Lewis?"

"Ma'am?"

"Is Hathaway alright? He doesn't appear to have gotten much sleep last night."

"I haven't asked him. I think he may have stayed here all night. His car was parked in the same place as yesterday. He did well this morning, though. We may be starting to make some progress."

"You'd better be. You don't have much more time, even assuming you get the court to approve another extension. If you have to let him go without charging him, the press will run you out of town so fast you'll be back in Newcastle by the time the door slams shut. Do you have _anything_ on him?"

"Nothing admissible. Nothing concrete, even. Just me own certainty."

"Why _ever_ did you bring him in if you don't have enough evidence to charge him?"

"He was targeting another girl to be his second victim, Ma'am. But we don't know whom. This was the only thing we could do to protect her. The press would go spare if he made a second attack while we fiddled about, doing nothing."

"Do you have proof of a second target, or is this just your 'own certainty,' too?" Lewis's mouth tightened, and he didn't answer. "This is no way to run a high-profile investigation, Inspector." Her exasperation was unmistakable. "If this turns into a disaster, I'm going to have to bring you up for abuse of office."

Lewis was stunned. "_Discipline?_ Why? I've said I had to bring him in."

"The public will want blood, Lewis, as you are well aware. It may not seem fair to you but I'm not sacrificing the reputation of the entire force merely to avoid offending the honor of one officer."

But his honor was already offended. "I thought you assigned us to this case because of our competence. Turns out it's only because we're expendable. Well, that makes us proud."

He stormed out of her office without waiting to be dismissed, this time ignoring her when she called after him.

By the time he collected Hathaway from his favorite smoke-break post, Lewis had managed to get his temper under wraps.

"Ready?"

Hathaway ground out the end of his cigarette on the hot pavement and followed without a word.

"Sleep okay last night, Sergeant? It took me a while to settle down, I know. This heat isn't helping."

Hathaway looked as though Lewis had spoken in a foreign tongue. "I'll sleep when we find her."

Lewis sighed. _And if we don't?_

They parted at the last moment, Hathaway letting himself into the observation room and Lewis entering the interview room.

The inspector sat down opposite the other man.

"I'm, uh, sorry about me sergeant getting a bit out of control. We'll get started as soon as he gets back. He should be calmer now that I've spoken to him."

Zelinsky eyed Lewis with interest.

"He has a pretty little step-sister about that age, so I imagine he feels a brotherly concern about all this," Lewis lied.

Zelinsky said nothing.

The inspector shook his head a bit sadly. "Me, I don't understand that age, females especially. They're not women yet but they're not really girls anymore, either. If that makes any sense." The last he said more to himself than to the man across the table. Then Lewis addressed him directly.

"Y'know, I simply cannot talk to girls that age. Wish I could. No matter what I say or how I treat them, they look at me like I'm a prat." He huffed a bit at his own incompetence.

"You have to treat them as though you're a fellow sufferer, enduring common indignities." It was the first substantive thing Zelinsky had said since they brought him in. "But you can't _say_ that, you have to let them reach that conclusion on their own."

Lewis looked at him gratefully. "Yeah? I'll have to try that. Sometimes we need the cooperation of a girl that age and I'm at sixes and sevens trying to get it. And failing, usually." A self-deprecating smile.

"Oh, well, getting their cooperation is different from getting their trust." Zelinsky smiled shrewdly.

"Oh, yeah? How's that?"

"First, you gain their trust. Then you use it to . . . shall we say, _convince_ them to cooperate."

Lewis seemed confused. "I'm not sure I understand. You were able to get Anna to cooperate that way?" He sounded admiring.

The other man was clearly pleased with himself. "Exactly. I met her in an online chat room, you know. Empathized with her about her overly-controlling parents, disloyal friends, judgmental people in general. Talked her into sending me a photograph of her with her top off. Hands strategically placed, nothing showing, of course. She was so perfect." He bent lower over the table, focusing on it. "Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect little buds where her breasts would be."

Lewis sounded appreciative, a touch of lust in his voice. "I can imagine. That must have been something."

Zelinsky leered. "I told her she was beautiful and asked her to take more explicit photographs and send them to me. And she did. It's surprising how trusting girls are at that age. So when she balked at sending me a photograph showing everything, with her fingering herself, all I had to do was threaten to tell her parents about the things she'd already done. And then with _that_ photograph secured, the next step followed naturally."

"Getting her to agree to meet with you." A knowing, lecherous smile.

"Exactly."

Watching from the observation room, Hathaway started when the door to the room opened. The Chief Superintendent entered and stood next to him, sizing up the situation in the interview room. She gave Hathaway an inquisitive look.

"Is he getting anywhere?"

"Yeah, he is, in fact. Nothing major yet, but I think we have enough to charge him with something fairly trivial, corruption of a minor, maybe, or an Internet crime. If we do that now, though, Zelinsky will never say another word."

"Mmm. At least he's gotten something."

Hathaway peered through the window. "Ma'am, see his hands under the table? What does that look like to you?"

She squinted at the suspect. "Oh, God, his trousers are open, aren't they? And he's . . ." Her face twisted in disgust as she recognized the slight, rhythmic movement of his right hand.

"He's certainly enjoying this line of questioning." Hathaway finished for her.

But Lewis had hit a dead end and Zelinsky shared nothing further about his success with Anna Gordon. Hathaway excused himself to Innocent and left to rejoin Lewis in the interview room. Time for Bad Cop to make another appearance.

As Lewis had pledged, Hathaway's demeanor was less aggressive. But his performance hinted at his being only just under control. His questions were accusatory and insulting.

Twenty minutes later, there came a quiet knock on the door and a WPC stuck her head into the room. "Inspector? I'm sorry to interrupt."

Lewis rose and consulted with her out in the corridor a moment. Then he apologized to his sergeant and explained he was needed elsewhere.

"Five minutes more, Sergeant? Then he's due for a break."

Hathaway railed at their captive for a full twenty minutes before pounding the table violently and flying from the room in anger.

As soon as he reached the corridor, Lewis popped out of the observation room and joined him, saying nothing but putting a hand on his shoulder. Hathaway gave no acknowledgment whatsoever.

Lewis turned to him at last. "I've got to go over to the court and get an extension. We'll have until Thursday morning at the most." He saw the defeat in the younger man's eyes. "Hey? It's not over, y'know. We got somewhere with him today, and we still have the better part of the night."

"_You_ got somewhere, you mean. And Anna will be spending another night alone in hell, I expect."

Lewis checked him from turning away. "James. I only made progress because you set him up for it. Don't demean your skills, you're doing a cracking job." He didn't add, _would never add_, his skepticism that Anna Gordon was still alive. "It's a _team_ success here, man. Besides, after what we got today, we don't need his actual statement about where she is. If he gives us enough to piece it together ourselves, all we need is _her_."

Lewis put on his jacket and headed to the courthouse to see about getting the detention extended. They would either have to charge Zelinsky or let him go at this point unless Lewis could convince the magistrate that they had good reasons to detain him longer. And even then, the most they could get was four days from when they had first brought him in. For Zelinsky, that outer limit was ten o'clock Thursday morning.

The Magistrate issued the extension with few questions after Lewis described what they had so far. But as she signed the order, she looked sharply at Lewis.

"Inspector?"

"M'lady?"

"You better get this bastard."


	3. Chapter 3

He returned to their office, a bag of takeaway in hand. He held the bag out to Hathaway, but the younger man declined.

"Aren't you eating anything?"

"Not hungry."

Lewis exhaled, blowing out his cheeks. He spoke softly. "Hathaway, you can't let yourself get so personally invested. We don't always win, even when it's important." He put a hand on his sergeant's shoulder, but James shrugged it off.

Lewis set his mouth firmly. "Look. D'you mind a couple pointers on this?"

"It couldn't hurt. It's obvious I'm not very good at it. Maybe you should have been Bad Cop."

"Ah, no. I'm not very good at Bad Cop."

"Find it too hard to be cruel to criminals, then, Sir?" He smiled.

"Too hard to stop once I've started." Fully serious.

"Oh. I see." The smile disappeared.

Lewis settled himself back in his chair. "What you should be trying to do is not be cruel to him, but to connect with the part of him that's cruel. You need to understand why he thinks it's an acceptable way to act. Then when you treat him the same way, he finds it reasonable and responds to it. What motivates him? Study him when I'm working on him, see how he reacts, how he answers." Lewis grew quiet. "You need to _become_ him, Hathaway. It won't be pleasant."

They returned to questioning their suspect, Lewis dominating as he tried to find out the places Zelinsky had taken the young girl. Although Hathaway knew it was all an act on Lewis's part, the more Lewis questioned the man, the more Hathaway felt a distinct need for a bath, something to cleanse the miasma from himself. The senior officer described the perfection of the pre-teen body in a way that left no doubt about his predilections, prompting Zelinsky to relate how he enjoyed taking girls to swimming pools, parks, carousels, and such. Lewis concurred in these as ideal settings for observing and fondling supple young bodies, but he managed to make it sound the way it would if he were a paedophile trying to conceal that fact. James shuddered internally.

"The thing is," Lewis was saying, "girls that age are perfect for such a short time. They're like flowers, no sooner do they bloom than they start to fade. It's a pity."

Zelinsky assessed the authenticity of Lewis's sentiment. "Yes, they start to develop. Or they harden, that's what I like least. When they won't cry any more. It ruins them."

Hathaway studied Zelinsky carefully, as Lewis had instructed him. He saw what made the man's eyes light up, what gestures he made, how he manipulated the conversation. Hathaway began to see where the cruelty arose and how the man perceived things.

When they took a break, Hathaway assigned teams of constables to check out all venues within a thirty-mile radius that were similar to the places Zelinsky described. As the hour grew later, Zelinsky seemed to draw energy from it as if, vampire-like, his strength waxed with the deepening of the night. At last, Lewis surrendered to the hypnotic clicking of Hathaway's relentless biro and sent Zelinsky back to his cell with the PC.

The two men sat in the interview room, staring at the framed photographs on the wall. After an immeasurable amount of time had passed in which neither man spoke, Lewis flicked his eyes toward Hathaway.

"Drink?"

"Yeah."

No more words were exchanged between the men until Lewis, having had one pint to Hathaway's three, parked in front of Hathaway's flat.

Lewis kept his eyes straight ahead. "Sleep in tomorrow, hey?" His voice was gentle and high-pitched, as it always was when he was concerned about his sergeant.

"I don't sleep, Sir. Might as well be at work."

Lewis touched his arm. "Well, try to sleep. And if you do, don't come in until you can't sleep any longer." He appraised Hathaway frankly. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow. "You look terrible."

"Thank you, Sir."

Lewis took a deep breath. "James, I'm not speaking as your guv, I'm speaking as your friend. And I'm serious. You need to take care of yourself. I know this case has affected you but it won't be the last one to take you in its teeth and try to drag you through hell." He paused. "Unless you let it." He lowered his voice so much, Hathaway could barely hear him. "And then all you have is madness. I've seen it happen to good men, James. It can finish you."

The look in Hathaway's eyes as he stared made Lewis wonder with a chill if he wasn't already half mad. He re-started the car.

"Y'know, you're staying at mine tonight. That's an order." He could tell Hathaway had been about to object.

The two men exchanged few other words that night. Lewis silently handed Hathaway linens for the spare bed and helped Hathaway dress the bed without ceremony. Lewis poured them each a shot of whisky but they drank with no camaraderie. Hathaway set his glass down in the sink and headed toward the spare room at once.

"Hathaway?" Lewis called to the younger man's departing back. The man stopped.

"James?" Quieter now, Lewis approached. He reached out a hand and touched him. "James." Not a question this time.

Hathaway stopped, turned and put his face within an inch or two of Lewis's. He said nothing. The coldness in his eyes stayed in Lewis's mind for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

The parks and pools identified the day before had not resulted in any progress toward finding Anna. After a long morning of Lewis trying and failing to get more out of Zelinsky, Hathaway was taking his turn in the interview room, Lewis observing from behind the glass.

"You know, I believe you and I have something in common."

Zelinsky's eyes flicked up, interested. "Whatever could that be?"

"We both like to see fear in other people's eyes. That's why intimidation doesn't work on you, isn't it? You understand the psychology of fear." He articulated the last three words carefully.

Zelinsky smiled slyly. "I thought there was more to you than mere brute, Sergeant."

Hathaway continued. "See, my guv, the Inspector, he's a . . . _nice_ man. A gentle man, at heart. He doesn't understand the power of fear, when it's done well."

"He likes young girls, though, which I somehow imagine you don't."

"Yeah, it's a weakness of his. He likes to touch and play with them, but not to scare them. Which leads me to the one thing I don't understand." Hathaway seemed analytical. "How can you derive satisfaction from frightening little girls? Such an easy target, I should think. Not much challenge there."

"You have experience, I expect."

Hathaway waited for him to answer the question.

Zelinsky settled into his chair. "It's not merely frightening a girl. It's making her life unpredictable. Treat her like a princess, then treat her like a whore. Stroke her hair, then twist it up tight in your fist. Make the tears come out. Surprise her with little gifts, then surprise her with pain. A little pet, a kitten or rabbit, let her play with it, then crush it with your heel, or break its neck. Do things for her, then make her do things for you."

"Things? What sort of things?"

The suspect grinned lasciviously. "Everything you're thinking, Sergeant. All of that."

Hathaway pulled on his lower lip thoughtfully. "So, you become the only thing she has, the centre of her world. And because she never knows what exactly she's going to get, she does her very best to please, to be a good girl, to get you to be the giver instead of the killer." His eyes seemed to glow with desire.

Zelinsky leaned forward, eagerly. "They have the softest hands, you know? And the softest lips."

"Mister Zelinsky, please keep your hands on the table where I can see them." Sharply.

A flicker of wrath across his face, but he brought his hands onto the table.

There was a long period of silence.

Zelinsky studied the table. "They scream so exquisitely, young girls. You really should try one."

Hathaway said nothing for some time. "Maybe I will."

Lewis watched from the observation room, fascinated. Hathaway had progressed phenomenally in his interview technique and, had he not known the man so well, he would have found Hathaway's portrayal of a sadist disturbing.

However, despite continued questioning, Hathaway extracted nothing more of substance from him. But Lewis could tell by the end of the session that the climate had changed between the sergeant and the suspect.

They called it an early evening. Both men felt as though they had been beaten up and they had no more capacity for continuing their roles beyond six o'clock.

Lewis put his hand on Hathaway's shoulder. "Doctor Hobson has offered to buy the first round. Are you coming?"

Hathaway did not answer but he followed as Lewis strode down the street in the direction of the White Horse.

They sat sipping their pints in silence. Doctor Laura Hobson looked from one man to the other for most of the first round.

"Are you boys alright? I get more conversation from the bodies in my morgue than you two are providing tonight."

Hathaway exploded unexpectedly. "_No, Doctor, we're not alright!_ We've just spent the better part of three days trying to work our way under the skin of a very sick man. It's not a place I want to be, but there you go. It's the only chance we have at saving the girl he abducted weeks ago, so we have to do it." He was breathing heavily by the time he finished his rant.

Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "Sorry, James. Really, I am." An awkward silence followed.

"I'll get this round." Hathaway collected the glasses, stood up and made his way to the bar.

Laura looked intently at Lewis. "Robbie. He needs you. He needs your help."

Lewis shook his head. "I can't, Laura. I'm drained. I have nothing to give him. I'm only just keeping meself from falling apart completely." He saw her frown. "I wish I could help him, really."

Hathaway returned with the drinks. Laura was amazed at the change in the two men this evening. Normally, they would tease and joke, or else quietly make fun at the expense of other patrons of the pub. Tonight they were tense and there was nothing between them: not a word, not a glance. It seemed that each man was in his own cell, a complete stranger to the other. It was eerie.

She turned to Hathaway. "James, if this is troubling you so much maybe you should see someone about it."

At first he stared fixedly ahead. Then he whirled, grabbing her jaw with one hand, his thumb digging into her cheek. "_I don't need anyone telling me what to do or how to handle this, okay?_" The people at the next table stopped their conversation to see if some sort of situation was going to develop.

He seemed to be trying to crush her jaw. Lewis, stunned, finally reacted to the fright in her eyes, leaping up and pulling Hathaway away from her.

"Hathaway, man, what the hell are you doing?"

James's eyes went from one to the other as if he'd never seen them before. Then he strode from the pub.

Lewis, half in shock, turned to the Doctor. Startled tears welled in her eyes.

"Laura, are you alright? Look what he's done to you." He gently brushed the angry red mark on her cheek.

"Don't fuss over me, Robbie, go after _him_."

Lewis collapsed into his chair. "I _can't_, Laura, I've just said. Anyway, he'll be long gone by now." He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "God, I wish Val were here."

He flinched when Laura put a hand on his back. "Robbie?" She spoke quietly, directly into his ear. "This case is changing you both, and not for the better. How is that happening?"

"It won't be permanent, Laura. It's just . . . for now. Y'know? We're trying to get this depraved . . . _beast _to open up to us. I play at being a paedophile and James pretends to be violent." He checked to see if she understood the enormity of what they were being required to do. "Val always helped us with this kind of thing. She knew exactly what to say—well, what to _not_ say, if that makes sense."

Laura took his hands in hers. They were shaking.

"I'm sorry, Laura. Here I am, going on about Val. It's only, without her . . ." He raised his eyes. They glistened. But he met hers squarely. "We're just two men, lost at sea, miles from shore. It may be that he'll drown on his own. But I have only enough strength to save m'self. If I try to help him, we're both lost. _Both lost_." He repeated.

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. "You're right to take care of yourself, Robbie. But are you certain James knows he's supposed to be pretending? What he did here tonight . . . it was so out of character. And yet it seemed so genuine." She lowered her voice. "He frightened me. And it almost seemed as though that was what he wanted."


	5. Chapter 5

Hathaway walked. There was a red rage in his mind that made him want to hurt things. As long as he kept moving, he would be fine. It was this bloody case. Trying to think like a madman was turning him into one. It was Lewis's fault; he had chosen the strategy and the roles. And in the beginning, Hathaway had merely muddled along, doing what he thought best. But after Lewis had guided Hathaway in how to work the part, Hathaway found he was more than able to merge with Zelinsky's personality, to understand his nuances and motives. At first, it alarmed him. Now, however, he felt himself settling into this skin, filling it, getting comfortable with it. He hated Lewis for forcing the situation onto him. But he was liking this new feeling of being in control. And he more than liked the look in Hobson's eyes when he held her jaw. He had found her fear erotic and empowering. Lewis's incompetent questioning was getting them nowhere. Only Hathaway knew how to get through to the bastard. _He_ would be the one to solve this, to find the girl. _He would own this case_.


	6. Chapter 6

As Lewis worked at his desk the following morning, he kept checking, peeking up at Hathaway. He suspected by the dark circles under James's eyes that the man had not slept much, and he knew that the bed they'd made up for him the night before had not been slept in. Hathaway was returning the glances, he knew, but Lewis's timing was perfect and the younger man was never able to make eye contact.

Suddenly, Hathaway threw a file down hard on his desk. "Why aren't we talking to him this morning, _Sir_?" He bit off the last word.

"Because that's my decision, Sergeant. Alright?"

"We're wasting time, we've less than twenty-four hours. I know I can get him, just give me another hour or two."

"In good time, Hathaway, in good time." Lewis sounded cheery. But he watched James frankly, no longer pretending to do otherwise. He barely recognized the man sitting across from him, twitching. Simmering.

"James."

Hathaway glared at him. His eyes blazed and his jaw was working.

Lewis felt a mounting alarm. "Hey? James?"

Hathaway saw with satisfaction the apprehension in his senior officer's eyes. He knew he had become the dominant partner; all he had to do was press his advantage. "You're afraid of him, aren't you? That girl will die because you don't have the balls to get it out of him. I'm not going to let that bloody happen."

Hathaway stormed out of the office, ignoring the shout behind him. He made his way to the interview rooms, ordering Zelinsky to be brought up. Lewis caught up and cornered him in the hallway.

"What do you think you're doing, man?"

Hathaway grabbed Lewis by the jacket and slammed him back against the opposite wall, knocking the air out of his lungs, and strode into the interview room. "I'm getting this case solved, _now_, Lewis."

Lewis leaned against the wall, gasping for air. He could not recall Hathaway ever calling him by his surname alone. When he recovered sufficiently, Lewis entered the observation room, and used the telephone there to call the Chief Super.

"Lewis, what is it this time? Are you making any progress on the case?"

"Yeah, we are, Ma'am. Hathaway thinks he only needs a couple more hours."

"Then why are you calling me?"

Lewis took a deep breath. "He assaulted me just now, Ma'am."

"Who, Zelinsky?"

"No, Ma'am. Hathaway. There's something different about him. Something not right."

"_James? Assaulted you?_ Should you pull him off the case?"

"The thing is, he's very good at this. I doubt I can solve it without him. But . . . it's as though he's becoming _like_ Zelinsky, and that's why he's so successful at getting under his skin."

"Try to wrap it up as quickly as you can." She paused, thinking. "And Lewis. Consider the possibility that James might need some professional help when this is over."

"As long as I don't have to be the one to tell him that."

Lewis turned his attention to the interview room. Zelinsky and Hathaway sat on opposite sides of the table, sizing each other up. Lewis noticed with a shudder that the two men had the same, soulless eyes.

Hathaway tried to crack Zelinsky's defenses in a six-hour battle of twisted psychology. When he would emerge for breaks, Lewis would stay by him, waiting outside the gents', standing next to him while he smoked, sitting in the office with him. He dared not speak. Hathaway was completely inaccessible, buried in the hideous, borrowed personality. But despite his efforts, Hathaway could not get Zelinsky to say where Anna had been confined.

When Hathaway emerged again from the room, Lewis put a hand on his arm. "Enough for today, Sergeant. We'll start early tomorrow. Six." He sized up the younger man's mood. Hard to read. Not as arrogant as he had seemed earlier. Not yet defeated, either. Frustrated, without visible anger. Biding his time. Rebuilding his strength. Lewis decided to press his luck.

"You can stay at mine tonight, if you'd like. I'd rather not leave you on your own."

"No, not tonight. There are some things I need to do."

Lewis hated to admit it, but he was relieved by Hathaway's answer.


	7. Chapter 7

Hathaway leaned against the bricks and drew deeply on his cigarette. In the pub, he had consumed only one scotch, taking his time with the drink while he observed the other patrons. He didn't want his senses dulled at all. Now out on the street, he watched the passersby, sizing them up, assessing their vulnerability. The street was dark, one of the lamps was out. After a while, a woman he had noticed earlier came out of the pub by herself. She looked both ways, swept her long hair back over her shoulders, and crossed the street. Hathaway straightened, smiled slightly, and followed her into the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

At five the next morning, Hathaway had Zelinsky pulled from his cell and brought to an interview room. Zelinsky sat with a slight smile on his face as James paced the room.

"You haven't remembered to turn on the recorder, Sergeant. Whatever I say won't be legal if you don't."

Hathaway smirked at the captive, conspiratorially. "Mister Zelinsky, what I want you to tell me has nothing to do with this." He waved at the recorder. "It has to do with me. I came here early so I'd be sure the Inspector wouldn't be here yet. I want to speak with you _personally_." He assessed Zelinsky's comprehension.

Satisfied, he continued. "You see, I met a young woman in a pub last night and . . . I want her very much. _Very much_. But I have nowhere to take her. I need a place where I can take her and . . . _enjoy_ her. You know what I mean."

Zelinsky's eyes narrowed. "You need a place she can scream, don't you?"

Hathaway looked at him with the sort of frank desperation that only men trapped in the same situation can share. "Yes. I need to hear her scream, and I need a place where no one _else_ will hear her scream. I know you can tell me where to find such a place."

"You're trying to trick me, Sergeant. Why should I trust you?"

Hathaway took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Long red welts lined his forearms.

"She did this to me. She likes it rough, Zelinsky. She's perfect for this." James stared at the scratches on his own arms with an unwholesome fascination.

Zelinsky smiled slowly.


	9. Chapter 9

By half past six, Lewis was frantic. Hathaway had not shown up at the office at six as planned. Assuming the man had at last managed to fall asleep, Lewis tried calling his mobile. It was, apparently, switched off. But he had sent a uniform to Hathaway's flat, and the PC had reported it appeared unoccupied. Hathaway's car was not there, either.

Lewis decided he couldn't wait any longer, they had little more than three hours left. He rang up the custody sergeant. "Bring up Zelinsky for me, would you, Mike?"

"I just brought him his breakfast, Sir."

"What, _now?_ I said I wanted him ready at six."

"I would have brought it earlier but he was in a bit of a state when James finished with him."

"_What?_ James? When?"

"Called for him around five. Had him in the better part of an hour. He was some kind of a lunatic when James was done with him, laughing like a madman, he was. Gave me gooseflesh, something awful."

Lewis concealed his confusion. _What was Hathaway playing at?_ "Okay, leave him for now. I'll just get the tape and see what James got out of him."

But there was no record that anything had occurred. No tape, no notes. Nothing.

He eventually arrived at the unfortunate conclusion that he would have to find out from Zelinsky what had transpired. Steeling himself for that, he got up from his desk at the exact moment the Chief Superintendent marched into the office. As if things were not already at their worst.

"Lewis, where do we stand? I've scheduled a press conference for noon. It had better be about Zelinsky facing charges and not about me dismissing a senior officer."

"Ma'am, I'm trying to find that out now, I . . ." Lewis stopped, mid-sentence. He _what_? He had no idea how to explain what was happening because he simply didn't know.

"_Trying to 'find out,' Lewis?_" She was livid.

He took in a huge breath. "I think Hathaway's onto something. Only . . . I've lost him."

"_Lost_ him? Do you mean you've misplaced him? Or that you've suffered some sort of defeat in a contest for which he was the prize?"

Lewis deflated. "Maybe both, Ma'am." Barely audible, "_Maybe both_."

She stared at him, open-mouthed. She hadn't really been serious about the contest.

And then his mobile rang.


	10. Chapter 10

Within an hour, a full SOCOs crew was swarming over the farmhouse site, collecting fingerprints, tire tracks, and other evidence that would later undisputedly link Zelinsky to the location. Doctor Hobson was up in the stifling attic, carefully removing from the water cistern the putrid remains of Anna Gordon. Portable lights blazed, adding to the heat. Hathaway, his jacket draped beside him, sat smoking on a low wall surrounding the garden, which by now shimmered in the mid-morning heat. He stared blankly, his arms folded across his chest, the two fingers holding the cigarette pointing outward.

Lewis approached him from behind. "Hey? You did it, James. I could hardly believe it when you called. You got him. You found her." Lewis spoke with quiet pride. Hathaway turned and flashed a twitchy smile.

Lewis's tone became more gentle. "Only thing is, have we lost _you_?"

"I'm right here, Sir."

"You know what I mean. Yesterday, the man sharing my office? It wasn't James Hathaway."

"It's me now, Sir, honestly." He unfolded from the wall and tossed the cigarette away. "Or, what's left of me."

"Good God, man, what happened to your arms? Someone do this to you?" Lewis had seen the scratches.

Hathaway drew his sleeves back down. He didn't answer for some time.

"Last night, Sir. I was wandering the City, looking for . . . I wanted to prey on someone. I wanted to frighten someone, anyone. When I got rough with Hobson the other night, I intentionally made her fear me." He lit a new cigarette. "It gave me this incredible feeling of power, of being in control. So I picked a lone woman and trailed her for a while. Well, stalked her, really, seeing if I could get her to walk faster. And she did. And I thought to myself, _I made that happen. Me!_ It . . . it . . . excited me, that feeling."

Lewis grimaced and cocked an eyebrow. "'_Excited_? Y'mean . . ."

Hathaway inhaled through his cigarette, the tip glowing brightly. "I mean sexually. It made me hard." The words dripped with revulsion. "I caught up to her and grabbed her arm. She turned and stared me in the face. And all I saw there was hatred. Not fear, _hatred_. And then I thought, _I made this happen, too_."

He chewed his bottom lip. "It sickened me. I was becoming someone I despised. I was becoming like _him_. And I knew exactly how she felt—I hated myself, too."

Lewis, deeply troubled, steered him away from the intensely personal revelations. "What happened to her?"

"I let her go and immediately apologized, saying I had mistaken her for someone else. She was obviously relieved, and she gave me a lovely smile. I felt contaminated. Poisonous. It was all I could do to get around the corner from her before spewing my guts."

Lewis waited for more, but Hathaway had fallen silent.

"And the scratches?" He encouraged.

Hathaway looked past Lewis, watching the coveralled officers busily collecting samples and taking photographs and measurements. Lewis was on the verge of prompting him again when at last he spoke.

"I had all this . . . _rage_. At myself, at Zelinsky, at you. I was in a place I despised but couldn't find my way back because of it. I discovered that pain helped me focus. By the time I'd done all this—" he gestured at the marks "—I knew how I could break Zelinsky's silence."

Lewis mulled this over a while. "You should have called me sooner. I'd have searched the house with you. You shouldn't have been alone when you found . . . her."

Hathaway at last made eye contact. He was scowling. "You're right, I shouldn't have been alone, but I couldn't wait. I kept thinking I'd find her alive." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, tossed the cigarette down, and ground it out. "You knew she was dead all along, didn't you?"

"It's why he was looking for another victim. I'm sorry, James, I probably should have said. But I wasn't a hundred percent sure, and I thought your hope for her was helping you."

Hathaway's face knotted in anger. "Yeah? Well, _stop helping me_, okay? Every time you think you're helping me, I lose a bit more of my sanity." He strode away, furious.

Lewis glanced sideways and saw Innocent and Hobson watching, sizing up the situation. With a resigned sigh, he followed after his sergeant.

"Look, James, I made a few mistakes, hey? I only did what I thought was best. I'm not a psychiatrist."

"No, that's pretty obvious."

"The thing is . . ." He hesitated. Hathaway would likely not take this well, and Lewis wanted to be sure he didn't take any misdirected blame for it. "Innocent thinks maybe she should send you to one. A professional, I mean."

Hathaway's face darkened further. "She _what?_"

"She'll order it, I expect, if she thinks you and I can't get this sorted by ourselves."

He stood close to his sergeant, but did not touch him. Lewis found himself unable to discern how fragile the man was at the moment and figured Hathaway might, after all, still detonate.

"James, I'm sorry, okay? I misjudged how you were coping. I wasn't coping too well m'self. If me daughter knew about half the things I've said in the past few days . . ." He shuddered, repelled by the role he had been required to play. Then he looked up with his most apologetic expression and tentatively put a hand on Hathaway's elbow.

"Forgive me?"

Standing at the far side of the farmhouse garden, Innocent turned to Hobson. "That looks better. They're friends again. I'm sure they both will be fine."

Laura, a bit incredulous, studied her. "All they're doing is closing ranks. Keeping away intruders. They'll probably _both_ need therapy after this case. And poor James, finding that rotting mess in the cistern! He won't forget that for a long time."

The Chief Super considered this, then smiled smugly. "As long as they can work together as a team, I don't care if they're mad as two hatters. I can't argue with their results."

As Laura shook her head in exasperation, Innocent approached the two detectives. "Well, boys, that was perhaps a bit unorthodox but you got it done. I'd like you both to attend the press conference, you deserve full credit for bringing him in."

"It was really Hathaway doing the heavy labor, Ma'am. He should get the credit."

"Fine. I'll see that he does. You still have to attend, Lewis." She went to find her driver.

Lewis watched Hobson walk over, her eyes flicking from one man to the other as she assayed them. She picked her way carefully, as if walking across shards of shattered glass.

"So. It's over, right?"

Lewis looked grim. "For now. If he goes to trial, we'll have to revisit a lot of this."

"I hope by then you two will have gotten some help in dealing with this."

Hathaway wheeled and strode away.

She frowned. "Robbie."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't answer.

"What happened to him here, finding those remains, that's been known to cause trauma in less sensitive men than he."

"I know. But it's his decision, I can't make him do anything. Besides, if it were me, I'd be the same way."

She gave him a tight smile. "Of course you would be. And you'd be making the same mistake."

She threaded her arm though his. "Just do what you can. Make sure he knows you're his friend, okay? At least _suggest_ he try getting therapy."

He smiled reassuringly. "I will, Laura."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Satisfied, she went back to direct the activity centering around the remains.

Lewis strolled over to where Hathaway stood with his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Hey?"

The sergeant lifted his head.

"Hobson thinks we both need therapy. I tend to agree, but—"

Hathaway's face clouded. "I'm not—"

Lewis put up a hand to stop him. "You didn't let me finish my sentence, Hathaway. I'm suggesting _liquid_ therapy. Okay?" A small smile.

Hathaway stared a moment, then a whisper of a smile appeared on his face as well. The first in four days.

"Are you referring to a pint or a hot tub?"

"Let's stick with what we know. The Trout, as soon as Innocent's little show for the press is done, right? I'll get the first round." He met the younger man's eyes squarely then, and they both knew they had survived.

"Come on, James, let's get back to base."


End file.
